Chapter 53 - Helios (Part 2)
-New Emperess's Room at Night-
The room pulsed with malevolent energy, the firelight vomiting demonic shadows across the New Empress’s chambers. The scent of scorched flesh hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid sting of sweat and blood. Eight-year-old Prince Helios lay broken on the cold stone floor, his frail body a roadmap of fresh and half-healed wounds, each one a silent scream carved into his flesh.
The red-hot metal rod hovered above his trembling skin, radiating unbearable heat before it even made contact. He knew what came next. He had learned—again and again.
The Empress didn’t hesitate. The searing iron met his flesh with a hiss.
Helios convulsed, his body arching violently as a ragged, inhuman wail tore from his throat. It wasn’t just pain—it was obliteration.
“M-MOTHER—!” he shrieked, his small voice cracking into fractured sobs. “PLEASE! I—BEG YOU! I’LL BE GOOD! I SWEAR—!”
The New Empress barely blinked, her expression a frozen abyss of apathy. Her grip on the iron was steady, merciless.
“I do not punish disobedience, Helios,” she murmured, pressing the rod deeper into his flesh. “I erase weakness.”
The sickening sizzle of burning skin filled the air, drowning out even his tortured screams. The pain was so deep, so all-consuming, it felt as if his very bones were melting.
On the throne, the Emperor watched with an expression of detached amusement. His lips curved into something too cruel to be called a smile.
“Exquisite,” he whispered. “Continue.”
Helios sobbed, his entire frame wracked with tremors. He could barely breathe. His mind was slipping, drifting away from the pain—but no, the pain dragged him back, anchoring him in its brutal embrace.
The Empress moved with precision, burning along his arms, his ribs, the soft flesh of his thighs—places that could be hidden beneath robes, places that would throb for days but never reveal their horror.
He could no longer scream. His throat had given out, reducing his agony to whimpering gasps, to silent, wretched sobs.
At last, the Empress withdrew, wiping the iron clean with a white cloth that would never be white again. She turned to her husband and bowed.
“He will not fail again,” she said simply.
The Emperor rose.
“No,” he agreed. “He won’t.”
The change was immediate. The moment the Empress left, his touch became something else entirely. The precision of torture was gone—what remained was fury.
He grabbed Helios by the hair and yanked him upright. The boy had no strength to resist; his body flopped like a broken doll.
“You pathetic little wretch,” the Emperor spat, his grip tightening until Helios thought his scalp might rip free. “Your existence is an insult to my blood.”
The metal rod came down—not careful this time, but wild. It struck his ribs, his back, his legs. The agony was new, raw—blunt force breaking what the fire had left intact. Helios couldn’t even beg anymore. There was no mercy here.
“Cry,” the Emperor hissed. “Louder.”
He beat him. Again. Again.
And when Helios stopped making a sound, when his tiny body could do nothing but twitch—only then did the Emperor release him, letting him collapse in a heap on the cold stone floor.
A pause.
Then, a smile.
“See that he survives,” he said to the guards. “He must learn to endure.”
The last thing Helios saw before the darkness swallowed him was the flicker of firelight on the blood-slicked floor.
-Winter Night; Garden-
The palace gardens, once a sanctuary of beauty and life, now stood as a frozen wasteland under the unforgiving winter sky. The air was razor-sharp, each breath slicing through Helios's lungs like shattered glass. Snow blanketed the grounds, its pristine surface marred only by the faint imprints of his small, trembling feet. Ahead, the river lay still, frozen solid beneath the merciless winter moon, a mirror of the boy's own frozen heart.
Beside him stood the New Empress, a figure of contrasts. Draped in luxurious furs, her warmth created an impenetrable barrier between them, as vast and insurmountable as the social chasm that separated ruler from the ruled. Helios, clad in nothing but thin, tattered pants, fought against the violent shudders wracking his frail body. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood—anything to keep his teeth from chattering, from making a sound that might displease her.
The Empress knelt, her fingers tracing Helios's frostbitten cheek in a mockery of tenderness. "Helios, sleep here, okay?" Her voice was gentle, almost kind, a stark contrast to the cruelty of her actions. The words hung in the air, a command disguised as a suggestion, leaving no room for protest or plea.
Then, without a backward glance, she turned and walked away. No blanket was offered, no fire lit, no shelter provided. The boy was left alone, a small figure against the vast, unforgiving landscape of winter.
As the Empress's footsteps faded, the snow began to fall in whispers, delicate and cruel. Helios knelt by the frozen river, curling in on himself as if trying to preserve what little warmth remained in his body. The cold gnawed at him relentlessly, seeping into his bones, coiling around his heart like an icy serpent.
Yet, Helios did not cry. He did not call for her to return. Experience had taught him the futility of such actions. Instead, he simply lay down, allowing the frost to embrace him like a mother would—the only embrace he knew.
This was not the first time Helios had faced such a night, nor would it be the last. As the cold intensified, he felt his consciousness begin to slip away. It was a familiar sensation, this dance with death that winter brought. And like every winter night before, he surrendered himself to the cold, uncertain if morning would find him alive or frozen.
In this moment of vulnerability, Helios's thoughts drifted to warmer days, to memories of kindness long past. But reality was cold and unyielding, much like the frozen ground beneath him. As consciousness faded, one question lingered in his mind: Would this be the night the cold finally claimed him?
The garden, once a place of life and growth, now stood as a silent witness to the cruelty of both nature and humanity. And in its icy embrace, a small boy fought for survival, his fate as uncertain as the first light of dawn.
-Summer 12PM, Rooftop-
The tiles beneath Helios’s bare feet burned like embers. The summer air was thick, suffocating, the heat radiating off the rooftop in relentless waves. Sweat slicked his body, his skin reddening under the merciless gaze of the sun even though dawn was hours away.
The Empress stood beside him, serene, untouched by the agony that coiled through his limbs. She lifted a perfectly manicured hand and gestured to the vast sky above.
"Stand here," she murmured, her voice carrying no malice, no warmth. "Until evening, okay?"
Helios did not question. He did not plead.
He bowed his head.
And she left.
The hours stretched, a slow and silent torment. The palace awoke beneath him, the sounds of clinking dishes, laughter, and the rustling of servants’ robes drifting up to the rooftop. He remained still.
The sun climbed higher. The heat became unbearable. His skin blistered, cracked, his vision swam with feverish mirages of shade, of water, of mercy. None came.
By midday, his legs trembled. By the afternoon, his lips were cracked and bleeding. By the evening, he swayed, on the edge of collapse.
Only then did she return.
She did not ask if he was in pain. She did not acknowledge the suffering etched into every inch of his body.
She merely said, "Good," before walking away.
And Helios, burnt and shaking, followed.
Hades knew nothing of this.
He dined in the halls of splendor, his every whim indulged, his every need met. He laughed in the warmth of the royal chambers, oblivious to the brother who, mere steps away, lay shivering in the snow or burning beneath the sun.
Hades lived as a prince should.
Helios did not live at all.
-After Hades and Helios turned 12; Their Room-
Silken drapes fluttered as a gentle breeze passed through the open window, carrying with it the scent of candle wax and polished wood. The chamber was bathed in the warm glow of golden candlelight, the flickering flames casting soft, inviting shadows. Laughter filled the room—Hades’s laughter.
"WOAH! These gifts are awesome! Don’t you think so, Helios?" Hades exclaimed, tearing into another elaborately wrapped present. Silver ribbons and fine parchment littered the carpet as he marveled at each treasure—a jeweled dagger, a gilded book, fine silks imported from distant lands.
Across from him, Helios sat motionless, his hands resting on his lap, his fingers curled slightly as if afraid to touch anything. A pile of gifts lay before him, untouched. But he knew the truth—none of them were his. They were simply placed there for the illusion of fairness, a cruel joke dressed in gold and velvet.
On the bed, the New Empress watched.
Helios felt her presence like a knife at his throat.
"HELIOS."
The single word cracked through the room like a whip.
His breath caught. His pulse thundered in his ears. The Empress’s eyes had widened, a silent promise of pain lurking beneath their glassy surface. His body moved before his mind could register the command.
"Ye-yes," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper, his hands trembling in his lap.
Hades groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward onto the carpet. "AHH, why are you so boring, Helios?" he whined. "It’s our birthday, lighten up!"
Helios said nothing. His tongue felt like lead.
Hades turned his gaze to him, squinting as if truly noticing him for the first time. His lips twisted into a frown. "And why are you getting so thin?"
Helios flinched—just slightly, almost imperceptibly. But the Empress saw it. He knew she did.
His heart pounded.
She smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
Helios lowered his gaze, his fingers curling into fists. He could not answer.
Because how could he?
How could he explain that while Hades feasted, he starved?
That while Hades slept in warmth, he lay beneath the winter sky?
That while Hades was bathed in light, he drowned in darkness?
How could he say any of it?
He couldn’t.
And so, as always—he remained silent.
-In the Hall-
The stone corridors stretched endlessly, dimly illuminated by flickering torches. The cold air carried a hushed urgency, a weight of something forbidden.
"Renna?" Helios murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he caught sight of the girl running through the hall.
A large brown sack swung behind her back, its contents clinking softly. She skidded to a stop, her breath sharp and shallow, her eyes darting around as if chased by unseen specters.
Then, she saw him.
Without hesitation, she unfastened the sack, peeling back the rough fabric. Inside, hidden beneath layers of cloth, lay an old, tattered book. She pulled it out and shoved it into Helios’s hands.
Helios squinted at the faded text, his lips parting slightly as he whispered the title.
"Black… Magic?"
"SHHH!" Renna hissed, her index finger pressing hard against her lips. Her wide eyes shimmered with a desperate warning. "Don’t say it out loud! Just keep it. Read it when no one’s watching."
She turned on her heels. "I'm going now. Please take care, Your Highness."
And with that, she disappeared into the shadows, the echoes of her hurried footsteps swallowed by the cold silence of the palace.
-In the Attic-
The attic was suffocating, filled with dust that clung to Helios’s skin like a second layer of filth. The single, dying lamp he had lit barely held back the darkness, casting wavering shadows that seemed to breathe with him.
His fingers traced the book’s worn cover before he flipped it open. The pages crackled like brittle leaves beneath his touch. He had taught himself to read in secret—hidden away in forgotten corners of the palace, piecing together letters under the dim moonlight when no one was watching. And now, he was ready.
The second he turned to a random page—
"Prince HELIOS! Prince! Prince! Prince Helios!"
A maid’s voice shattered the stillness, urgent and panicked.
Helios’s heart lurched. His fingers fumbled as he slammed the book shut. He shoved it behind a loose floorboard, his hands trembling as he scrambled out of the attic.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"The basement," the maid stammered. "His Majesty is waiting for you."
Something in her tone sent a ripple of unease down his spine.
-In the Basement-
The air was thick—choking, rotten, stagnant. The scent of rusted iron curled into Helios’s nostrils, sharp and metallic, mingling with the damp musk of ancient stone. The dim golden light from the small, barred window barely reached the corners of the room, leaving parts of the basement in lurking, shifting shadows.
His footsteps echoed, unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
His father stood before the window, his hulking figure frozen in eerie stillness. The firelight flickered against his broad shoulders, painting a monstrous silhouette. A cold draft whistled through the cracks in the walls, and yet, the Emperor did not move.
Something was wrong.
Helios swallowed. The saliva in his throat felt like needles.
"Father?" he called softly, hesitantly.
For a moment—nothing. Then—
"YESSSSSS, I did."
The reply did not sound human.
It slithered from his father’s lips, wet and guttural, like something pulled from the depths of rot and ruin. It was a voice lined with madness, with something far more terrifying than mere cruelty.
To be Continued...
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